


Life is a Journey

by CamsthiSky



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: 30 day writing challenge, Attempt at Humor, Batfamily Feels, Canonical Character Death, Characters will be added as they appear - Freeform, Coffee Shops, Emotional Hurt, Family, Flirting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Minor Injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, batfamily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-11-21 20:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 6,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11365407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/pseuds/CamsthiSky
Summary: A 30 Day Writing Challenge for the month of July, using only DC characters (mostly batfam). Every day will be a new prompt.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will mostly be done on tumblr, but I thought I'd post the ones I could on here as a backup. Most won't be longer than a thousand words, but what I've done so far has been a lot of fun. I'm excited to do this challenge.
> 
> Day 1: Pick a line from your favorite book/movie/poem/show/song. This line is now the first line of your story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Tim have a competition, and Steph is a terrible referee.

“Weapons are allowed. Dirty tricks are expected. But try not to kill anybody!”

“Wait are you serious?” Jason asked, lighting up in absolute glee. Tim was on the other side of the mat looking absolutely _not_ into it, but Jason didn’t take it personally. At least he was still in the same room. Dick and Cass bailed the moment Steph announced their pseudo tournament. “Weapons? _And_ dirty tricks? What is this, Christmas?”

“You wish,” Stephanie said from the side, where she was refereeing. “Still, the only rule is no killing. I was informed that Timmy has a WE meeting tomorrow morning and the only requirement Dick gave me was ‘not dead.’”

Tim glared at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Steph.”

Stephanie shrugged, a smile playing at her lips. “Hey. I’m just the messenger.”

“Let’s get going,” Jason urged, stretching his arms this way and that. “I want to finish this in time for dinner.”

Tim readied himself, and both him and Jason waited for Stephanie’s call.

“Ready, Set, Go!”

Jason was leaping forward the moment the words left Stephanie’s mouth. He was going to win, but he couldn’t be overconfident about it. Tim was always a force to be reckoned with. He hadn’t started with a lot of athletic ability like Jason and Dick had, so he’d always worked ten times harder to _make_ himself good enough.

Sparring with Tim was almost like dancing. There was a rhythm to Tim’s movements, to his hits and kicks, to his flips and turns, but just as soon as you got the hang of it, Tim switched it up, throwing off your timing and taking the upper hand.

Sometimes Jason wondered if Tim actually did it on purpose or whether he was subconsciously watching his opponent fall into the trap. Jason was used to it enough that he didn’t fall into it too often, stalling his hits or executing a flip to throw off Tim’s rhythm. Still, he had to work hard to force Tim to play by _his_ rules. Dick and Bruce seemed to be the only two people in the world who didn’t fall into the trap. Heck, even Damian was susceptible to it, and the kid was always _furious_ about it.

(Best time to rile the kid up was after the brat finished a sparring session with Tim, in Jason’s opinion.)

And of course, Tim hadn’t wanted to even do Stephanie’s proposed tournament at first, but the moment the first blow struck, Tim was all business.

Eventually, Jason was starting to flag. They’d been going at it for almost fifteen minutes, and fifteen minutes of _close combat_ was hard for even the toughest of individuals, and Jason did the only thing he could think of.

He licked Tim’s hand the moment it came close enough.

“Oh, gross!” Tim cried, recoiling. Jason grinned and took the opportunity to dive forward, tackling Tim to the ground and turning their spar into a wrestling match. “Steph!” Tim called from underneath Jason. “Steph, that wasn’t fair!”

“Hey, just be glad I didn’t shoot you,” Jason said, “‘cause that was the other option. Besides, Steph just said I couldn’t kill you.”

“Right-O, Jason,” Stephanie, and a glance over to her showed that she wasn’t even looking at them anymore, too busy playing cards with—wait. When had Cass come back into the room? “The only rule was ‘try not to kill each other’ if I recall correctly. Got any fours?”

“Go Fish,” Cass said.

Tim just cried out in indignation.

Jason laughed. It was a good day to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line is from Percy Jackson and the Olympians, if you didn't know.


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Tim go sky diving. Tim doesn't enjoy it as much as Dick does. Go figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Character A to Character B: "holy crap this is a terrible idea"

“Holy crap,” Tim said, his eyes wide as he looked at the drop right beneath them. “This is a terrible idea. One of the worst you’ve ever had, Dick, and that’s saying something because you thought green scaly panties was appropriate wear to fight crime.”

Dick frowned at him. “It was actually Jason’s idea, and stop being a baby. It’s just sky diving.”

“Into the ocean!”

“You’ve done it before.”

“That was when I was appropriately equipped,” Tim told him, peeking over the lip of the plane again, because this was not his idea of fun. At all.

He wasn’t _scared._ Not really. Sure he wasn’t like Dick, who basically had a heights fetish, but he didn’t mind being up high, usually. Not to mention they weren’t too far from the shore. Still, this time was a little different. Jason had dared Dick to “stop being a wuss and jump out of a plane without your suit” and Dick had _loved_ the idea so much that he’d invited—forced—Tim to go without him.

So here they were. With only a shady parachute each, about to dive in the ocean.

“I’m not doing this,” Tim said, crossing his arms. “You _know_ Jason probably tampered with these para—Dick!”

And then Tim was falling (he was pushed), the wind stealing his breath and Dick’s laughter from right above him as they plummeted towards the ocean. Tim tried not to enjoy the rush of it all purely out of spite. He was sticking by this bad idea thing.

And when Tim pulled his parachute, it was just in time, and he was drifting towards the ocean, Dick laughing alongside him. As soon as they got within ten feet of the water, both Tim and Dick released their parachutes and dove into the water.

“That was fun,” Dick said as soon as they’d both surfaced. “We should do it again.”

Tim leaped for Dick, pushing his head underwater, and Dick spluttered, coming back up only when Tim felt he’d proved his point. “I hate you.”

Dick coughed a little, but sent a blinding smile Tim’s way anyways. “Love you, too.”


	3. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick tries to fight a spider with a laptop and gets really confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Your character has to fight something—the item closest to you is now your character’s only weapon.

A spider. There was a freaking spider crawling up Dick’s wall, and it was _huge._ Gigantic. Like, it should be illegal to let spiders that big stay alive. It needed to be killed. _Now._ Dick grabbed the flattest thing closest to him—Tim’s laptop, which. Why was it in Dick’s room? Probably not as important as the spider, though, so he could figure it out after the thing was dead—and crept closer to the thing.

Just as he was about to swing for it, a “ _What are you doing?!”_ was screeched, and Dick missed, hitting the wall just underneath the spider, and Dick froze, staring at the thing.

“Oh crap,” Dick said, backing up a few steps, taking Tim’s laptop with him, just as Tim stopped towards him, fire in his eyes.

“What the hell,” Tim hissed, ripping his laptop from Dick’s hands. “I have a presentation tomorrow, and everything I need is on here!”

“There was a spider!” Dick argued. “There _is_ a spider! You made me miss!”

“Don’t care,” Tim told him, his voice cold. And before Dick could answer, Tim spun on his heel, collected the spider off the wall, and left the room. Dick was left gaping after him. What in the living hell was that?

* * *

 

Later that day, when Damian heard the story, he only stared at Dick with wide, horrified eyes. “You almost _killed_ Ebenezer?”

“Its name is _Ebenezer?”_ Dick asked, blinking at his little brother.

Damian didn’t answer him, too busy running out of the room calling for Tim to _“Give Ebenezer back before you find yourself dead in a ditch!”_ and Dick felt like this whole day was only happening to mess with him.

At least Stephanie was sympathetic. She clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “Good luck with that.”

Dick felt a headache coming on.


	4. Day 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Steph wait in the cold, locked out of the Batmobile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is day 5. I made day 4 its own story because it became a 7k+ behemoth, so you're welcome to go check that out if you want. It's already posted. But this one is really short in comparison, and I've been experimenting with dialogue, so it is mostly just them talking.
> 
> Day 5: Your character(s) get locked out of their car. Where are they when it happens and what do they do?

“Okay, seriously?” Steph asked, rolling her eyes. “How do you get locked out of the _Batmobile?”_

“It wasn’t _my_ fault,” Tim said. “Dick was the one driving it!”

“Well Dick’s not here, is he?” Stephanie glared over at him underneath her cowl. “So you’re the next closest person I can blame.”

Tim recoiled. “What? Why?”

“Well, B adopted you, didn’t he? You have more access to the Batmobile than I do.”

“That literally doesn’t make any sense,” Tim snapped. “Dick has the keys! It’s not my fault that he’s still dealing with those criminals!”

Speaking of criminals, they probably should have been helping to take down the three that Nightwing was fighting, but Dick looked absolutely ecstatic to be finally blowing off some steam, and Tim kind of didn’t want to ruin it. Dick had had a rough week, and he could definitely use the outlet.

So they were stuck waiting in the cold for Dick to finish fighting.

“I thought this thing was like, programmed to open with our finger prints,” Steph grumbled after a moment, and Tim only sighed. “What? I’m being serious, Tim. I’m freezing my butt off.”

“You’re wearing gloves,” Tim pointed. At that moment, Dick knocked the last guy out cold and instructed Oracle to tell the police where the thugs were. “And besides, Dick’s done. We can go now.”

“Hey guys,” Dick said cheerily, his nose and face a bit red from exerting himself in the November chill. “You ready to go.”

“Born ready,” Steph said, sliding into the back seat as soon as she was able to. “Oh my god, it’s so warm in here. I thought I was going to die.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. It really _was_ warm, Dick was happy, and nobody was hurt. Best not to ruin the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were too cold to take off their gloves.


	5. Day 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee AU that's not an actual coffee AU. Turns out Dick's only undercover. Good thing there's a pretty face there to make it bearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't drink coffee, so I tried my best?
> 
> Day 6: “I’m a barista in a coffee shop. You come in everyday and always order ridiculously complicated coffees. But you’re pretty cute, so I never mind too much.”

“French vanilla latte, non-fat milk, two shots of espresso, extra foam with whipped cream and cinnamon on top, heated to exactly 90 degrees, please. To go.”

Dick didn’t sigh, but it was a close thing. Man, he’d have quit already if this girl wasn’t like the prettiest girl to have ever crossed his path, and she smiled at him over the counter as he went to prepare her latte. She was the only one even in the café, besides him, and it was pleasantly quiet.

“Here you go, gorgeous,” he said, handing the latte over with a grin.

It was obvious she was fighting a smile, but she took the latte with a gracious, “Thanks, Dick.”

“Oh,” Dick said, waggling his eyebrows at her, “You know my name?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Of course I know your name, you dork. Not to mention you’re wearing a name tag. Please tell me that someone commented on it.”

Dick looked down at the nametag pinned to his chest. “My manager did. And a few other employees, but the costumers don’t really look at me besides my pretty face.”

“You have a pretty face?” the girl asked, her eyes wide with mock-innocence. “Didn’t notice.”

“Well, it’s not as pretty as yours,” Dick told her. “How’s the latte?”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t know. It’s not mine.”

“Wait, what?” Dick asked, blinking at her. “What do you mean it’s not yours? Who are you ordering for?”

“I can probably tell you,” the girl conceded, leaning closer to the counter conspiratorially. She whispered, “It’s Tim’s. Can’t go an hour without the stuff.”

Dick was floored. “You come in here almost every day with those crazy orders, and you’re telling me all of those are for Tim?” he wondered. “Seriously?”

The girl shrugged. “Most of them, at least. Sometimes Cass likes to order, too.”

“Oh my God,” Dick said, feeling a little bit faint. He looked back to her. “But why do _you_ come in here every day and order it for him?”

“Why do you think?” The girl smiled again, and it was the most beautiful thing Dick had ever seen in his entire life. Dick was in love. “To see you, of course.”

Dick smiled. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I like you.”

The girl laughed, bringing the latte closer to her so she wouldn’t spill. “Well, you’re in luck,” the girl said brightly. “I like you, too.” She turned around and started to wheel away, saluting the drink in her hand to him. “Bye, Dick. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Babs.”

Oh yeah, he was totally head over heels for that girl, and he was glad that Bruce forced him to get a job as a barista to establish a cover. It gave him an excuse to talk to his favorite girl every day, even if she _did_ order completely ridiculous coffee orders for Tim all the time.


	6. Day 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does Bruce only seem to be able to show affection to his sons when they're unconscious or hurt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Write about a specific, existing character without explicitly stating who it is – try to describe them well enough that your readers could figure it out who it is!
> 
> This one was kind of hard to write.

“No,” Bruce whispered, sprinting past panicking pedestrians. He wasn’t in costume, and it was more in dangerous to run at the enemy in broad daylight, but _his son was in there._ He wouldn’t leave another son to die thinking he wasn’t coming. “No. _No.”_

He reached the rubble, and he started to push through it. There was no comm unit to contact anybody, to see if everybody was alright. It was just Bruce, digging through the ruined building, desperate to find his child. He didn’t want to feel like this. Like he was too late. Not again.

Finally, _finally,_ he found him.

Bruce pushed away a large piece of cement that could have been a wall or a piece of the ceiling at one point and _there he was._ His face was a mess of bruises, his right arm was pinned under a few more rocks, his dark hair tangled and glistening with blood from the cut on his forehead, but he was alive. He wouldn’t be up in the air for a while, but he would be okay.

That is, as long as he was still breathing. He didn’t know what the internal damage was, after all.

Bruce dropped down to his knees and clutched the free wrist, his heart pounding as his felt for a pulse. He let out a sigh of relief a few seconds later. It was there. Weak, but steady, and Bruce touched his own forehead to his son’s.

It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. It wasn’t going to happen again, not again. Bruce would make sure of that. No Joker, no swords, no bombs, nothing but rubble and a heartbeat. Everything was okay.

Bruce knew that this was probably the one person in the whole universe that just _couldn’t_ die. If he died, Bruce didn’t think he’d be able to go on. They’d pretty much began this whole thing together, and he was always a constant in Bruce’s life. In _everybody’s_ life. The one person most every other crime fighter could put their trust in. The multiversal constant, Clark had said, and Clark had been right on the money.

He pulled out his cellphone, shifting the rocks from the pinned arm as he dialed and cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

_“Master Bruce?”_

“Alfred,” Bruce said, his voice tinged with relief. “There’s some sort of attack happening on the Upper West Side. Who can you pull in?”

_“You are unavailable, sir?”_

Bruce swallowed noisily and looked at the prone body in the rubble. “Yes,” Bruce said. “I am. What about everyone else?”

 _“I will send out the message,”_ Alfred promised. _“Anything else?”_

“Call Leslie and tell her I’m on my way,” Bruce told him as the idea struck him. The nearest hospital would be packed from the attack, and he trusted Leslie with his life.

_“Are you hurt, Master Bruce?”_

“Not me,” Bruce said, his voice grave. It wasn’t him, but by hell, he wished it was him in the rubble experiencing the physical pain, not kneeling next to an unconscious body experiencing psychological torture of watching his son almost die under a collapsed building. “I’ll call you when I get to Leslie’s.”

 _“Of course, sir,”_ Alfred said, and he sounded resigned.

Bruce hung up, put the phone back in his pocket, and exhaled a steadying breath. The sooner they got out of there, the sooner everything would be okay. He slid his arms underneath his son’s shoulders and behind his knees and lifted, grunting at the weight—most of it was muscle, but Bruce still remembered back when it had been so much easier. A hyperactive nine-year-old boy that Bruce used to give piggybacks to and throw up into the air with little effort.

He was all grown up, now.

 _Focus,_ Bruce told himself. The car wasn’t far, but carrying an adult man that far was going to be somewhat hard.

“Hang in there,” Bruce murmured to the man in his arms as he started for the car. “Just hang in there. You’re going to be alright.”

Bruce hoped this time when he said it, it would be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it was Dick Grayson. Shocker. I write about him so much I don't think that very many people are surprised at this point. Also, I've been on a Bruce acting like a parent kick, so expect so more Bruce and Dick fluff and angst in the upcoming days.


	7. Day 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is sick and Dick refuses to leave him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Pick a song and write a drabble based on it. The catch is: you can only write for the duration of the song. If the song is 3 minutes, you write for 3 minutes.
> 
> The song I picked was "I Found You" from the Batman Lego Movie.

Bruce was sick. _Really_ sick. When Dick had peeked in earlier, he couldn’t help but cringe at the heavy coughs coming from the man. Dick had a pretty strong immune system, Leslie had said, but that it was safer not to come into contact with Bruce, even if he didn’t get sick often.

Bruce heaved another cough, and Dick couldn’t take it any longer.

“Bruce?” he called out, creeping through the room and climbing onto the bed. “Bruce, are you alright?”

Bruce struggled to open his eyes, and when he did, he gazed blearily up at the boy. “Dick?” Bruce asked, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing in here?”

Dick frowned. “You’re sick.”

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here,” Bruce argued, but it lacked his usual heat. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

“I won’t get sick,” Dick promised. “I’m Robin.”

“And I’m Batman,” Bruce told him, “and look where it’s gotten me.”

“Bruuuuuce,” Dick whined.

“Out.”

“No.”

_“Out.”_

_“No.”_

Bruce exhaled loudly. “Dick—”

“We can’t save Gotham until you’re all better,” Dick said, “and my mom used to say that family was all you needed in order to stay healthy. Me an’ Alfie are your family, and Alfred’s busy, so I’ll stay with you until you get better.”

Bruce was tense for a moment, and they stared each other down. Finally, Bruce chuckled lightly, shaking his head and relaxing back into his pillows. “You’re such a good kid. I’m so glad I found you.”

Dick beamed. “Me too.”


	8. Day 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's hands are forever stained with blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9\. Write about a color, but you can’t say the name of the color.
> 
> To be honest, I didn’t do too well with fulfilling the prompt for this one, but I’m not stressing too much about it. I’ve got enough to worry about and I’m the one doing the challenge.

He’d held his hands against the wound for a long, desperate to save an innocent life, and now it was all over his hands. On his clothes and under his fingernails, and no amount of scrubbing could get it off. After hours upon hours, he’d scrubbed his hands raw, his T-shirt and sweats sitting completely ruined in the tub.

Bruce found him like that, the shower on as it rained down on his tattered clothes, the sink overflowing, Dick sitting on the ground just staring at his raw hands. It didn’t make sense.

“It’s not coming off,” Dick whispered to Bruce when the man crouched down next to him. “Why won’t it come off?”

“There’s nothing there,” Bruce told him, the gentlest he’d sounded in _years,_ and if _that_ didn’t set alarm bells of in Dick’s head, nothing did. Bruce grabbed his hands and squeezed until Dick looked up at the man. “Dick, there’s nothing there. You washed it off.”

He hadn’t. His hands were stained with it, his clothes, his hair, the walls, the floor. Everything he touched was stained the dark color of blood and regret, and now. So was Bruce.

“I’m sorry,” Dick sobbed, letting Bruce pull him into a tight embrace, because he’d already ruined one of his most important people. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Bruce hushed, rocking him back and forth in his arms. “You’re okay, Dick. You’re okay.”

He wasn’t. It was too late. The blood stained his hands and there was no going back.


	9. Day 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Steph and Babs friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: 3. “I’m not jealous.” With Dick and Babs with Babs being the jealous one!
> 
> Probably not exactly what the anon was thinking, but I’m horrible at writing any sort of real contention between these two, I think. Sorry :/ So I took the opportunity to turn it into some Steph and Babs friendship? Also, this is part of the 30 day writing challenge since I’m kind of stretched thin atm.
> 
> Day 12: Write a ten sentence story
> 
> (Also, Day 10 is it's own story that I will be posting the second chapter of today and Day 11 is one sentence so I'm not posting it here.)

“Who is that?”

Barbara blinked away from her computer screen to blink over at who Steph was talking about, and she could only roll her eyes when she what the other girl was squinting at.

“It’s Dick and Wally,” she told Stephanie, and then she looked back at her work, because Batman apparently this guy found _yesterday._ Seriously, Bruce knew how to hack pretty well, and Babs knew that Tim was home, too, and Tim was almost as good as she was. “Just ignore it.”

“Okay, you’re tracking them via traffic cams,” Steph said, and there was a grin in her voice. “Please tell me you’re not _jealous.”_

“I’m not jealous,” Barbara said.

“Uh huh,” Steph said, and when Barbara glanced over, there _was_ a big knowing grin on her face, and sometimes Barbara wondered why she put up with Steph sometimes—okay, that was an absolute lie. She loved Stephanie to death.

“I’ve got work to do, and if you’d like to help instead of wondering whether I’m jealous of Dick’s ‘bro-ship’ with Wally, that would be absolutely amazing,” Babs said, and was rewarded with Steph sticking out her tongue and moving back to look through the files Bruce sent, which was a lot more fun with a friend.


	10. Day 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten-year-old Dick Grayson wants to learn how to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13: Write a story with a happy ending.
> 
> Day 14 is posted as its own work.

When Bruce looked up from his work—this contract _really_ needed to be looked over and it turned out that Lucius was out of town on a business trip that Bruce had tried to cancel, so _he_ couldn’t do it—but when Bruce looked up, it was to see Dick standing on the other side of the desk, hands on his hips, and a pout bigger than _he_ was.

“What,” Bruce asked, his voice flat. He looked back down at the contract as he waited for his son to reveal the reason he was here when he _knew_ Bruce was stressed over this.

“Teach me drive.”

Bruce closed his eyes and prayed that he’d just heard that wrong. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Bruce. Teach me to drive.”

Bruce opened his eyes and stared at his son. Dick was still pouting, but now that Bruce was looking for it, he could tell it wasn’t because Dick was upset, it was because he was trying to be serious and stand up for himself.

So Bruce said, “No.”

“I need to know how!”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need to know how to drive, Dick. You’re ten.”

Dick stomped a foot. “But what if you’re hurt or something and I need to get us home!”

“The Batmobile has autopilot.”

“What if we’re not in the Batmobile.”

“Then you _really_ wouldn’t need to know how to drive, because there wouldn’t be anything for you _to_ drive.” Bruce paused for a moment before he added, “And if worse comes to worse, call Alfred. He’ll come pick us up.”

“Bruce.”

“No.”

“Bruce!”

Bruce set down his pen with an exasperated sigh and gestured for Dick to come over to him. Dick did, reluctantly, and once the boy was close enough, Bruce picked him up under the arms and settled him on his lap.

“Okay, let me put it this way. I’ll teach you to drive—” Dick’s face lit up, and Bruce hated that he had to say this next part, but Alfred told him the only way to curb Dick’s desires was through some sort of compromise, “—in a couple years. I _will,_ but not until you’re old enough.”

Dick frowned. “Why can’t I learn right now?”

Bruce sighed. “Dick, you’re ten years old, and I doubt you’d even be able to see over the steering wheel, let alone reach the pedals.”

Dick sighed dramatically and slumped back into his chest. “Fine,” Dick said, and this time he really _was_ pouting. He kicked his feet lightly, bouncing them off Bruce’s shins in a way that Bruce knew he wasn’t saying something.

“What are you planning?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing,” Dick fibbed, not looking at Bruce.

Bruce grimaced. Oh, he was not going to like this. “Jig’s up, kiddo. Spill.”

“It’s just,” Dick paused aa moments, looking like he was trying to figure out how to word this, “I thought maybe if _you_ wouldn’t teach me, then maybe Alfred would. Or Clark.”

Bruce chuckled lightly. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Alfred and Clark would probably agree with me.”

“Then I’ll steal your car and learn how to drive myself.”

“If you can figure out how to do that, then I’ll make sure to take you with me to the next JLA meeting.”

Dick brightened, twisting around so that he was looking into Bruce’s eyes. “Really? Are you serious?”

“I’m serious,” Bruce said, a smile playing at his lips. “I’d be really impressed to see how you got passed me, my security, _and_ Alfred.”

Dick’s smile fell for a second, but then he was flashing it at Bruce again. “Challenge accepted.”


	11. Day 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick doesn't understand. What does he mean Jason's dead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15: Write a story that doesn't have an ending

Why could things never work out for him? Just for once in his life, he’d like for something to _not_ be ripped away from him the moment things seemed to be going good for him. He was Nightwing, him and Bruce had finally stopped fighting all the time, he and his friends had just returned from another successful mission. Things had been going good.

So why did that have to stop?

“I don’t understand,” Dick said, barely daring to breathe as he looked at Bruce.

And Bruce looked like hell warmed over. He had dark shadows under his eyes, his hair unkempt, his clothes rumpled, and—and he looked _old._ Much older than he actually was. There was grief and resignation in his eyes that Dick didn’t—that Dick _couldn’t—_ understand.

Bruce took a step forward, and he placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Jason’s dead,” Bruce said, and Dick’s heart caught in his throat, because something like this wasn’t supposed to happen again. He wasn’t supposed to lose his family again. He’d—He’d _just_ started to feel like Jason was important to him, and now he was dead? “He died three weeks ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Dick.”

No. _No._ He didn’t want to accept it.

But as Bruce squeezed his shoulder once and turned back towards the steps to the Manor, walking away from Dick, _leaving_ him, it all came crashing down. Jason was dead, and Dick had been the last to know.


	12. Day 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim eats gross food and Jason is disgusted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16: Write a handwritten story. Not going to post the pic here, just the story. Check my tumblr if you want to see it in my handwriting I guess??

“What are you _eating?”_ Jason asked Tim, disgusted on the behalf of everyone in the kitchen—which was actually only Cass, and she looked more amused than anything, so _someone_ had to be disgusted on her behalf. “That is _so gross._ How are you even putting that in your mouth right now?”

“Your just jealous,” Tim said, only it came out a lot more muffled and with a _lot_ more chewed up food than Jason had ever wanted to see in his life.

“No,” Jason said, slowly backing out of the kitchen. “No, I’m not.”

Cass stayed, though. She didn’t seem to mind Tim’s horrible food choices, but Jason sure did. And he was so out of here. He wasn’t coming back until he could get that horrible, nightmarish image of Tim eating pizza with _peanut butter._


	13. Day 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is afraid to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 18 is it's own work
> 
> 19\. Your character has an unusual or uncommon phobia.

(Set after they find Tim)

“What are you doing up this early?” Dick asked from the doorway, rubbing at his eyes. Tim only glance at him, but he looked like a complete mess. Bedhead, pillow creases on his face, and—was that drool on his chin? Tim wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if it was.

“Never went to sleep,” Tim told him, shifting his attention back to his laptop. He also had a few notebooks spread out in front of him, and the end of a pen went back between his teeth.

It was quiet for a little while before Dick sighed and flopped down on the bed next to him.

“Timmy,” Dick said, seriously, and Tim knew that whatever this was about—and he had an idea—he wasn’t going to like it. “Tim. You need to sleep at _some_ point.”

Tim closed his eyes and tried not to think about what sleeping entailed. Tried not to think of the dark places his mind would race to when he closed his eyes, when he couldn’t find something sufficient to distract him during the night, when he lied on the bed and stared at the ceiling and prayed the dreams wouldn’t come.

He wasn’t a stranger to nightmares, but these—these were something out of a horror film. Tim wouldn’t sleep. Not if he could help it.

So Tim grunted out, “Coffee.”

“Uh, no.”

Tim frowned and looked over at his brother. “Do you have any idea how much work I have to catch up? And that’s just in Gotham. After that I have to—”

“Don’t act like I don’t know you,” Dick said, his face almost disappointed. Tim turned back to his laptop so he wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. “Tim, this has seriously got to stop. This is the third night in the last week that you’ve pulled an all-nighter. You _need_ sleep.”

What he needed was to stop dreaming. To stop seeing his nightmares come to life right before his eyes. What he needed was to stop wondering why his family had practically left him for dead, why they didn’t come looking for him until it was almost too late. What he _needed_ was for people to stop trying to distract him from his own distractions.

Sleep wasn’t on that list.

Tim sighed heavily, acting like he was so exasperated with this conversation, and said, “I need to finish this spreadsheet before 3 pm. I’ll take a nap later.”

Dick shook his head at him, and easy smile playing at his lips, and all Tim could do was force a reassuring smile onto his own face and send it his big brother’s way. Dick didn’t seem to catch on in his own sleepy state, and Tim was more than grateful.

This would pass. Eventually.


	14. Day 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20: A very simple, easy task goes horribly, horribly wrong.

“What are you _doing?”_ Damian asks as he walks into the kitchen. The entire room is a mess, one that Pennyworth, if he were here at the moment, would sigh and lecture everyone in the vicinity, regardless of whether the person was involved or not. And Damian is _not_ in the mood to receive a lecture.

Grayson looks up from where he’s rolling out dough, shooting Damian that idiotic smile of his. He’s covered in flour and dough, and Damian wants to shower just _looking_ at him. “Hey, Dami. Wanna help make cookies?”

Brown pops up from behind the counter. “No way, Dick! You already hijacked this from me! You don’t get to invite people to bake with us when you’re already teetering on being _un_ invited.”

Grayson rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, Steph. It’s just Damian.”

“If one person jumps in, everybody will!”

“We’re almost done anyways! What harm can it do?”

The fire alarm beeps then, and both Brown and Grayson pale and spin towards the oven, where smoke is pouring out. Damian takes that moment to slip out of the kitchen and away from the scene of the crime. If he’s lucky, Pennyworth won’t realize he was here. He wasn’t involved with that disaster, no matter what Grayson wishes.


	15. Day 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 21: “Um… Did you have that tattoo yesterday???”

“Um,” Dick says, blinking at Tim’s bare arm as soon as Tim’s shirt is taken off and thrown towards his towel. Tim blinks back and Dick’s eyebrows scrunch up in concern. “Did you have that tattoo yesterday?”

“What?” Tim asks, looking down at his arm and seeing—oh. Tim looks back at Dick. “It’s a temporary tattoo. Steph and Cass got a few this morning and they blackmailed me into trying a few. There’s one on my ankle, too.”

Dick bites his lip when Tim holds up his ankle to show Dick the moon that matches the sparkly sun on his bicep. It looks like he’s trying to hold back laughter. “We’ve been planning this pool party since last week. They know it’ll come off by tonight, right?”

“What I want to know,” Jason says, hopping out of the pool behind Tim and walking away from the chaos that used to be Marco Polo at one point, “is what dirt Steph and Cass have on you.”

Tim’s lips thin and he tries his hardest not to turn bright red. Based off Dick’s and Jason’s laughter, he’s not completely successful. Jason slaps him on the back with a wet hand and Tim barely keeps himself from stumbling forward into where Dick’s still sitting on a pool chair.

Dick sobers quickly, though. “Uh, Timmy?” Dick asks, his eyes trained on something behind both Tim and Jason, and they both spin around to see—oh no. “Did you tell Bruce about your temporary tattoo?”

“I’m out,” Jason says, leaping towards the pool.

Tim feels like retreating, too, but Bruce is staring at Tim’s arm with a narrowed gaze, and Tim knows that he’s probably lost his opportunity to explain when Bruce strides towards Tim and Dick’s side of the pool with purpose.

Tim shoots Dick a pleading glance, but Dick grins. “Sorry, Timbo. You’re on your own for this one.” And then he’s jumping into the pool with Jason, Roy, Wally, Donna, Clark, and Diana to join their messed-up game of Marco Polo, and Tim really _is_ on his own.

Why’d he have to let Steph and Cass give him those temporary tattoos?


	16. Day 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 22: Write about a character you feel like you relate to.

“Report,” Batman demands as soon as he’s out of the Batmobile, and Dick finds he can’t answer him. He can’t meet Bruce’s eyes. There’s something wrong in his chest, and if Dick speaks, he’s afraid something ugly will come out, and that’s the last thing anybody needs right now. _“Nightwing.”_

This used to be easy. Dick remembers flitting around the Cave, a ten-year-old boy more than happy to take on a world as Robin, Batman’s partner. He remembers cartwheeling out of the way of bullets, of playing dress-up with the cape, of goading Bruce into more and more training, always eager to prove himself and show off. It used to be so easy to be a part of Bruce’s life.

And then it got hard. Months of growing apart, of Bruce pushing Dick away—it all took a toll on their relationship, and there were days that Dick ached to go back to how easy it used to be. But things had gotten worse, and Dick left Robin behind. After that, him and Bruce didn’t talk. It was impossibly hard to even be in the same room as Bruce.

Sometimes it still is.

After all these years, Dick’s been Robin, and Nightwing, and _Batman,_ and still, working with Bruce seems like this impossible thing he can’t quite seem to conquer with his temper flaring up. Without him storming out to cool down. Without _something_ between them breaking again. And the more time went on, the harder it got to keep repairing it.

Now, Dick’s Nightwing again, and he wonders what he’s even doing here, trying this again—okay. So that’s not entirely true. Dick _knows_ why he’s here. He’s here for Damian. He’s here because Dick and Bruce were supposed to have patched things up. He’s here because his temper isn’t supposed to exist anymore—he’s supposed to have buried that when he became Batman and Damian became Robin.

No, what he doesn’t know is why he’s doing this to himself again.

And then Bruce is kneeling down in front of the chair Dick’s curled up in, and the cowl is down. Bruce looks impossibly sad, and Dick wonders what kind of expression he’s wearing in order for _that_ look to come out.

“Dick,” Bruce says. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

Dick opens his mouth automatically, but nothing comes out. He snaps it shut when he realizes that he isn’t going to be able to answer, and he shakes his head and tries to push down the rising anger and hatred—all directed at himself.

He hates Bruce for this, too, because Bruce is the one who helped shape Dick. If Dick doesn’t meet Bruce’s standards, then he doesn’t meet his own standards, either, and he _hates it._

Bruce grabs Dick’s wrist, pulls him out of the chair, and hugs him. He pulls Dick in, wraps his arms around him, and Dick—after all these years—finds himself melting into Bruce’s embrace, just like he had when he was a kid.

“Whatever happened,” Bruce tells him, his voice low right next to his ear, “you can tell me.”

“What if it was my fault?” Dick whispers.

“Was it?”

No. It hadn’t been Dick’s fault that there were more enemies than the intel he’d barely managed to get his hands on had said. It hadn’t been his fault that the girl the thugs had captured had been dead for hours before he even got there. It hadn’t been his fault that he’d gotten injured enough to call for backup.

But it still felt like it.

His brain was ahead of his heart, and he’d shut down after he’d gotten back to the Cave. After he’d taken off without a word to Bruce and Damian about why he’d even _needed_ backup, he couldn’t help but blame himself for this whole situation. If only he’d gotten better intel, if only he’d been _earlier,_ if only he’d been _better,_ and that was all the Bruce in him talking. Logically, there was nothing he could have done to make anything else go differently.

Dick buried his head in Bruce’s shoulder, and said quietly, “No. It wasn’t.”

“Okay,” Bruce said. “Then it wasn’t. And even if it was, we would have figured it out.”

Dick didn’t quite believe that, but it was nice to hear it for once.

Working with Bruce was hard, sometimes, but in the end, Dick didn’t think it wasn’t worth it. He loved Bruce, and he knew that Bruce still loved him, even if the man was awkward about emotion and showing affection in a way that Dick wasn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr:
> 
> camsthisky.tumblr.com


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